PlayTime
by Dr Megalomania
Summary: A tale of amusements, grand and small... Honestly, it doesn't take much to amuse someone, does it?
1. Zero One: Gun Completely Crazy

Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!!

I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. This story is dedicated to my ever wonderful Beta-reader, the Bluegoo, my new beta reader, Clow'd9, and to everyone who helped me out, or wrote to me, reviewed me to tell me to come back during my various stages of depression! 

Okay, that's the legal stuff out the way!!

//Thinking//

"Speaking"

*Stress/Emphasis*

~*~

**PlayTime**

By Doctor Megalomania

Okay, so this is a series of little ficlets, there's no time line, no real point, nothing that links them, except for the fact they all came to me during various times when I was messing about with my mates . . . yes, I do still like to play with my friends, I am a child at heart and hope to forever remain so! Please R&R!! Oh, and you have to guess which point of view it's from, since it's one pilot's POV about another!

Zero One: Gun Completely Crazy

My Wing Gundam - 01.

I raised an eyebrow and stared blankly at the massive red and white foot of the Gundam and the black, tiny, white lettered strip label attached to the metal appendage just at eyelevel. My frown grew deeper as just below the label, another read: _My Wing Gundam's Left Foot - 01._

What in the hell? 

I have to admit my curiosity got the better of me and I walked around to the other foot. Hmm. I glanced around, for – oh, say about five seconds before spotting the same tiny label. _My Wing Gundam - 01. My Wing Gundam's Right Foot – 01._

Oooooooookay.

I sucked in my bottom lip and glanced up. Surely he hadn't. He wouldn't be so childish.

. . . he wouldn't . . . 

Would he?

Okay, so five minutes later I was running over the gangway and leaning dangerously over the railing to peer at Wing's big bad-ass gun's handle. I couldn't frigging believe it! Heero Yuy had labelled his friggin' Gundam's gun! Holy mother of Moose! He'd gone loopy with that label machine! I snickered involuntarily as the image of our darling little Heero running around the place with a label gun and shooting stuff with it. What next? The frigging light bulbs in Wing's cockpit?! 

. . . yeah, actually yeah. He would label the light bulbs in his Gundam . . . I sighed and clambered down the gangway so I could get over to the hanging Cockpit Access Rope. I was just about to step onto it when I spotted another label. 

_My Wing Gundam's Cockpit Access Rope - 01._

I slapped my forehead. The boy misses nothing.

Up in the cockpit – which by the way, I did *not* pick the lock, nor did I force my way in without permission . . . no, I discovered after jury-rigging the access panel and blowing out the locking mechanisms, the doors flipped open and I decided, as a good friend and fellow pilot, to manfully brave the great unknown and step into the cockpit with great stealth so not to alert any other intruders to my presence in Heero's Gundam . . . Damn nice of me, I think. Anyway, up in the cockpit I stared around in awe as I took in the true depths of Heero's childish petty streak. On the back of the chair was the label, _My Wing Gundam Cockpit Chair - 01_. The seatbelts were labelled, the steering gears were labelled, the door was labelled, the missile launchers were labelled, and the pedals were labelled. I glanced up and true to form, the light bulbs *and* the lamb panels were labelled. I squinted at the various buttons and found . . . yup, he'd labelled the Self Destruct Button.

I couldn't take it anymore. 

I peeled that one off and stuck it to my forehead.

Now *I* was _'My Wing Gundam's Self Destruct Button - 01'_!! Mwhahahaha!! 

Wandering out of the cockpit by the, of course, _My Wing Gundam's Exit/Entrance Door - 01_ and down _My Wing Gundam's Cockpit Access Rope - 01_, I walked back to the small – Schyeah, like anything Quatre procures for us is small – safe house and nodded to the giant picture of . . .

Hold up.

I squinted at the small dedication plague underneath the picture of Our Mother Mary.

_My Mother Mary - 01?! _

Heero labelled the picture of the holy mother of Christ?!

That . . . that . . . that . . . of all the petty, childish things!! I looked at the table that was just under it and picked up the flower vase. 

_My Vase of Flowers – 01._

I put that down and opened the drawer. Staring with complete horror as I picked up some of the things in it. All sporting the same black, tiny, white lettered labels. 

_My pen - 01._

_My paper – 01._

_My receipt from the Grocery Store for Wufei's milk - 01. _

_My cellotape - 01._

_My spare battery - 01._

_My scissors - 01._

_My rubber band - 01?!_

This was getting out of hand, Heero was a menace! I closed the _'My Drawer filled with other stuff that is mine - 01'_ drawer and dropped to my knees. Sure enough there was another label.

My Little Hallway table with My drawer filled with other stuff that is mine, under My painting of My Mother Mary - 01.

That little monster! I shook my head and continued along to the kitchen . . . glancing up as I did, sorry, did I say THE kitchen . . .? I meant _My kitchen -01. _Shaking my head, I found Trowa staring at the fridge, his mouth haven fallen open and his dark green eyes wide with sheer horror. I swallowed. Surely . . . surely Heero hadn't . . .

I stepped toward Trowa and leant over the door. 

The mind boggles as to exactly how much time Heero dedicated to this little mission. _My Butter – 01. My milk – 01. My cheese – 01_. All the strawberry and blackcurrant flavoured yoghurts sported a _My_ _Yoghurt – 01._ The beers, the coke bottles, the lemonade jug . . . the bowl of last night's salad, the salsa dip, the ham box, the cucumber! Oh my god! He even labelled the box of leftovers that nobody quite remembers what or when it's left over from! Trowa straightened and opened the freezer, letting out a quiet gasp.

Heero had even labelled the ice cubes.

Yes. 

The goddamn ICE CUBES!

Trowa glanced at me, his eyes wide then his gaze flickered to my forehead. 

"Self destruct button?" He said quietly, his one visible eyebrow shooting up. "He labelled his self destruct button?"

"Yes." I murmured as I picked up the frozen peas and stared at the frozen label. "Think he's labelled anything else in the—"

"MAXWELL!!"

I jumped as Wufei's voice bellowed around the house. Spinning, I found myself face to face with a rather red faced Chinese dragon whose forehead now bore the Mark Of Yuy. 

Then Wufei threw the mask at me and growled, "What the hell is that label?!"

"Hey!" I protested, "It's not me! Zero One means Heero!" 

Wufei's eye ticked. I love it when it does that; it's just something that never fails to amuse me. It's just one little jerk just under the eye, a muscle tightening quickly, but to me it's one of the funniest damn things I've ever seen. 

Anyway, his eye ticked and he looked around. "And the other labels?"

"All Heero. None are me at all . . ." We looked around in silence for a moment as other labels around the _'My Kitchen – 01'_ started to appear to us. He'd labelled the apples, the bananas, the fruit bowl. The bread, the bread bin, the cookie jar, the sink, the taps, the plug, the dishtowels, the washing up liquid, the washing machine, the laundry basket, the pegs, the peg box, the cooker, the hobs, the saucepans, the frying pan, the wok. 

Wufei's eye ticked again at that one and I chuckled, earning an 'I'm going to stomp on you with Nataku' kinda glare. 

Heero had taken the time to label the counter tops, the cupboards, the windows, the door leading to the garden, the floor tiles, the chairs, the table – twice – he'd labelled the kitchen phone, the answering machine, the notice board, the mission statements we kept on the notice board, the empty wine bottles, the champagne bottle Quatre was saving for the end of the war, the shopping list, the shelves, the spice rack . . . the spices *in* the spice rack . . . the knives, the forks, the spoons, the teaspoons, the ladle, the chopping board . . .

Trowa bit his lip and let out a small, "Uh-oh", when he found Quatre's favourite teacup had been Heero-ised.

. . . the onions and the potatoes, and pretty much everything the perfect solider could get his little steel bending hands on. It's kind of cute in a . . .

No, actually . . . it's not that cute . . .

I ran into the living room and found the living room was no longer for living . . . it was Heeroing. Beloved TV, beloved videodisks, beloved couch . . . all had fallen under the Mark of Yuy. It was like Heero had become some sort of dog and was spraying his scent all over the place. Hell, my computer gaming station was even labelled. Wufei's exercise hand grippy thingy was labelled; Trowa's flute case and the flute was label. 

Trowa let out another little, "Uh oh . . ." When he saw Quatre's violin, violin stand, bow, music book, music stand, violin case . . . even that sweet smelling resin stuff he puts on the bow now was liberally covered with the Mark of Yuy. 

The bookcase, the books . . . Romeo and Juliet was now a famous play by _My Book – 01._

Dear God . . . I sprinted over to my shelf – yes I have a shelf, but now it was _My Shelf – 01. _I gaped in horror and damn near trembled as I picked up one of my favourite things on the shelf. 

My papier-mâché version of the Shinigami - 01 

He got my papier-mâché version of the Grim Reaper. 

Damn him!

I spent hours on that model! 

I picked up my other models, all either handmade or assembled from kits and growled as I found the Mark of Yuy branded on each of them.

There was a quiet "Ahem" from the door, followed by bags being very carefully put down. We all turned to find Quatre, strangely – and rather frighteningly – calm in the doorway. 

He was holding one of his favourite shirts, still damp from the washing line. He held it up and said very, very, very calmly, "Why did we let Doctor J send Heero a Label Gun for his birthday?"

We all glanced at each other and the only other sound in the room was Quatre's quick march out the room and Trowa damn near sprinting after him, muttering a third, "Uh oh . . ."

Later that night . . . after Trowa subdued Quatre in the hallway . . . I dunno what he did, I heard something whispered about rope, handcuffs and a slinky but thank god he got rid of that mad, Zero glint in good old Q's eyes. It still gives me the willies whenever it appears.

Anyway, I was watching _My Television – 01 _on _My Sofa – 01_, eating a _My Apple – 01_ and quite happily downing a _My Beer – 01_. I'd put on a random _My Video Disk – 01_, and was now hoping to drift off into happy land, dreaming of a place that wasn't labelled with the Mark of Yuy. There was a slight creak in the doorway as Heero came in finally. I glanced up as he looked at me, and went to open his mouth. Something though – maybe my highly pissed off glare at him . . . what? You expect me to laugh? He labelled my papier-mâché Grim Reaper Model!

Anyway, he promptly closed his mouth again, pulled off his wet coat and slunk off into the _My Kitchen –01._ I felt myself growl angrily. Surely he knew how much paint had come off the bottom of the Grim One. Granted he'd thoughtfully placed it on the bottom of the model out of sight, but still the principle of the thing!

When he came back, I stood, intent on giving him what for. 

My mouth fell open as he unashamedly started typing something into his label gun. "Heero . . ." I began as he glanced at me, an evil glint in those steely blue eyes. "Heero . . . I'm serious . . . don't you touch me . . ."

He shrugged and levelled the gun in my direction. "I'm sorry, but I can't take the chance my control will slip. It will kill both of us, if I touch you . . ."

"Heero . . ." I held up my hands, soon I would too bear the Mark Of Yuy! I had to do something! "Don't do this!" 

"I don't want to! I don't want to put you out of commission." He faltered for a moment, his gun lowering. "I need you!"

I . . . I'd never heard such words from him. I felt my heart leapt about, partly from the fact I was about to be blasted by his label gun, and partly because I'd always felt a little . . . you know, something for our perfect solider. Not that I go blasting the fact that lowly Gundam pilot wants Miss Relena's boyfriend around, but you know . . . sometimes things get a little . . . you know . . .

He closed his eyes, lowering the gun completely. 

"I need you . . . I don't think I could have made it so far into this war without you . . . you've always been by my side, reassuring me always that there was a way out . . . even in the most impossible situation, you've always been there . . . glowing . . . like a light in the darkness . . ."

"Heero . . ." I could feel the blush crept up on my cheeks as he continued to spurt such poetry for me. "I honestly didn't know . . . I . . ." 

"I keep fighting so hard, just to make sure I never use you . . . I always try to respect you, you have so much power over me . . . I . . . I can barely stand it sometimes." He glanced up at me through his bangs and growled, "I'll fight to the death to make sure nobody gets the chance to touch you before I do . . ." 

My eyes widened as he took a step toward me, his voice still in a possessive growl.

"I want to touch you . . . you tempt me like no other, how can I resist you? I want to caress your hardness . . . capture your glowing for my own . . ." 

I backed away from him, not from fear, but from that dark little smirk that built on his lips. My back hit the wall and soon he was leaning over me, carefully not to touch me, one hand pressing against the wall to stop my escape. I couldn't get away; his dark blue eyes boring into mine trapped me. 

Yikes!

"One day, I want . . . to fumble in the darkness for you . . . want to seek out your smoothness . . . your hardness . . . I want to push you hard, pressing and pressing and pressing . . ."

I swear that little simpering moan was NOT from me. It was from the other lovesick teenaged boy with a braid, staring up at his heart's obsession as his fantasy began to fill his mind with dirty thoughts.

"And pressing you so hard you finally explode . . ." Heero licked his lips, daring to lean a little closer. Damn, he just knew what to do . . . I wanted to surge forward and paste myself to him. Relena can sue me all she likes, can use her high up thingymabobbies to get them to send me to wherever. Consequences be damned, I want to die kissing the perfect solider!

Just as my mind caught up with my body and I leant forward to snog the pants off him, he backed off very quickly and smirked at me. 

"What?!" I demanded, knowing my face was blushing like hell and my eyes were betraying my emotions to him. 

"Sorry." He said not so unhappily, "I can't touch you . . ."

"Why the hell not?!"

He nodded to the mirror and shrugged.

I stomped over to the mirror and stared at myself. Okay, so I was a little dishevelled, braid was falling out in places, my big ugly shirt – a present from Howard – was buttoned up wrong. My boxers were showing on one side of my very low slung, faded jeans . . . my feet were bare . . . maybe my toenails needed cutting but—

"You're looking too low . . ." Heero suggested, the damned smirk even in his voice. I snapped my head up and stared at my . . . face . . . oh. I get it . . .

I sighed.

I still had the damned _My Wing Gundam's Self Destruct Button – 01 _label on my forehead. He was talking about the button . . . not me . . .

He chuckled in a quiet version of his mad cackle as I turned, "Okay, wise ass . . ." I began but never finished as I suddenly heard a small hiss, a sort of_ Pur—chuck—Whirrrr _sound and a sharp, quick, stinging pain on my forehead.

I idiotically crossed my eyes; trying for some bizarre reason to read what Mark of Yuy had been placed upon my cranium as Heero began to laugh again, lowering his label gun. Sighing, I turned and peered into the glass. "Why in the hell did J give you that goddamn label gun for in the first place?" I muttered as I tried to pull loose the hairs that had gotten trapped before reading the new label. 

Heero appeared in the looking glass behind me and shrugged. "It's for when I self destruct, he said, because the number of times Wing gets blown up it just makes it easier to find, pick up and put back together again." 

I closed my eyes for a moment and pressed my forehead against the glass, "And why exactly would you need the toaster when you are trying to put together your blown up Gundam?"

"I might get hungry?"

I opened my eyes and straightened, staring the boy with frank amazement. "You're one in a million, Heero . . ." I let my gaze flicker up to the label. 

My Sweetheart Duo Maxwell – 01 

I blinked again and again as I read the small backward message. Do you ever get a moment when a few simple words, maybe put accidentally, maybe not just comes off the thing they are written on and punches you in the gut? Well . . . like I said, the other love sick teenaged Gundam boy was the one who moaned quietly and let his eyes take on a glean of tearing. 

_Hiss._

_Purr-CHUCK-Whirrrr._

"Ouch!" My eyes widened as I felt a sharp stinging pain across my left buttock. I spun and glared at Heero as he walked off, out of the room. The little Label Gun Maniac chuckling to himself as he ran up the stairs. 

I glanced over my shoulder and stared at the latest addition of the Mark of Yuy.

Your Ass Is Mine, Maxwell – 01 

_Owari_


	2. Zero Two: Model Behaviour

Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!!

I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. This story is dedicated to my ever wonderful Beta-reader, the Bluegoo, my new beta reader, Clow'd9, and to everyone who helped me out, or wrote to me, reviewed me to tell me to come back during my various stages of depression! 

Okay, that's the legal stuff out the way!!

//Thinking//

"Speaking"

*Stress/Emphasis*

~*~

**PlayTime**

By Doctor Megalomania

Okay, so this is a series of little ficlets, there's no time line, no real point, nothing that links them, except for the fact they all came to me during various times when I was messing about with my mates . . . yes, I do still like to play with my friends, I am a child at heart and hope to forever remain so! Please R&R!! Oh, and you have to guess which point of view it's from, since it's one pilot's POV about another!

Zero Two: Model Behaviour

"Neeeeeeeooooooooooowwwwwwwwww!! Booooom! Oh no! What?! The mobile suit is going to hit the power lines! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" 

I blinked as I glanced up from my task. The voice pitched from high to low as the 'conversation' continued. I sighed and returned to my self-appointed task; ridding us of the blasted labels Yuy had so childishly stuck everywhere! No one else was going to do it; Barton was watching TV while Yuy was off in the hanger, probably using the label gun again. Meanwhile, Winner was off on the fifth floor . . . yes, our safe house has a fifth floor . . . it also comes with five hundred channels of cable TV, seven secret passages, three BMWs, two Yamazaki motorbikes and one Ferrari. I shook my head as I continued to scrape off the irritating label. Winner was just not your model warrior. 

Talking about models . . .

Maxwell, in case you were wondering, is in the living room. Playing with his models. His hobby is to make models, whether it's with his own hands or with the aid of model kits. For weeks on end, it's not unusual to find the boy busily fixing something together. I can't tell you how often I get a message in my mobile suit with a picture attachment. 'Look,' he says, 'I made its little leg! Aaww!' 

And sure enough there's a small picture of this model's leg, with his grimy, sometimes blood stained hands. If I didn't know him, I'd probably be scared of pictures like that. Actually. . . I'm still scared of pictures like that. . . Sometimes it seems that Maxwell just doesn't remember that just moments before he had put together the model's little leg he was sneaking over barbed wire and blowing bases sky high.

"Duh-duh-duh-duh!!!"

The imitated sound of machine fire floats from him as he plays with these models. Maxwell doesn't often play with his models; he's too fiercely protective of them. But sometimes . . . I put down the scraping tool I was using and walk over to the door between the kitchen and the living room. Maxwell is lying in front of the fireplace, with the television on some random news channel. He's lord and general over his little toy army, mobile suit models at his complete command and rather chillingly, the papier-mâché model of the Grim Reaper lies on its side on top of the TV. A closed tub of black paint and a paintbrush sitting in a water jar, all on top of old newspaper tell me he's finally repaired the damage caused by having to rip one of Yuy's labels off the bottom. 

He's supposed to be watching the news for any mention of us or what OZ have got to say about us. 

His notebook has some scrawls in it, and he's at least facing the news, but other than that, it's providing white noise for him. Maxwell doesn't do well with complete silence. Its always bugged him so somewhere, wherever Maxwell is there is something providing some sort of distraction, some sort of white noise. 

"You can't do that! It's too powerful! I can! I must! We've gotta save the planet! NEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOWWW!!! Twenty, nineteen . . . Christ! The countdown's started! Get out of there!"

I rolled my eyes; he's such a child! Can't he act grown up for a while? I fold my arms and lean against the doorframe as he brings out his favourite models. The Real War models. There from some forgotten war a few years back, before us, they're old style mobile suits, clunky, colourless. Nataku knows how they told the difference between their own suits and the enemy forces! After a few moments of watching Maxwell mindlessly play, moving the little army back and force, throwing them in the air as 'mines' apparently explode, I gleaned something resembling a plot from his utterances. Apparently the 'good' side are trying to protect their small country from being over taken by a huge evil organisation from another country. The small country doesn't have much money, they're fairly poor and they need some serious help, it would benefit them to accept the money from the overbearing organisation. However they'd have to give up their traditions, have to give up everything that they were in order to be part of this organisation. I smirked; Maxwell's country had a small band of fighters who were the best in their fields. They could only call each other by their numbers, interestingly there were only five of them . . .  

"Three! Don't do it!" He picked up a small tank and raced it toward a small group of toy soldiers who were no doubt cowering as this tank came careening toward them. "Don't do it!" Maxwell's imaginary fourth fighter called out, "We're supposed to be fighting for freedom, not settling old vendettas!" 

The tank showed no sign of slowing down, and Maxwell helpfully provided some screams, protests.

"Noooooo!!" Cried the toy soldiers, helpless as they were trapped inside their imaginary base. 

Just as it seemed too late, the tank swerved and veered away. "You're right . . ." Three growled gutturally, "Damnit . . . I . . . I can't let him get to me like this . . ."

Him, by the way, was the evil master of the big organisation. Him was evil, so evil in fact; he sacrificed one of his daughters to save himself. The evil baron of the organisation was too dishonourable for words and the small band of fighters made it their mission to kill him at all costs. Three's problem with him was, that once a very long time ago, Three had come across Him and – not knowing whom he was – let him escape. 

The first of the fighters landed in his mobile suit and blasted into the hanger where all the organisation kept their weapons, aiming his weapons at the storage containers. He was about to destroy the organisation's main cache of weapons. Without organisation's cache of weapons, their war would turn and the small country would be winning for once. Just as he was about to take those weapons out, an enemy mobile tackled him! 

"No!" Cried the first, "I've got to complete my mission!"

The two mobile suits roiled around the deep shag carpet, battling for life and death. Various cries and grunts were issued as the fighter's mobile suit took heavy damage from the superior mobile suit of the enemy. The enemy raised his foot, about to deliver the final crushing blow to the fighter's head when Maxwell suddenly dropped both models and sat up attentively. I blinked, not realising how deeply I'd allowed myself to be drawn into the story. 

I glanced at Maxwell as he quickly scribbled, the screen showing images of his own Gundam battling forces near Old Cuba. I glanced back into the darkened kitchen, and realised I'd been watching Maxwell for three hours. The sun was beginning to set, filling the kitchen with a dark amber haze. The garden door swung back and forth lazily, the bowl of water and the wallpaper scrapper I'd been using lying where I'd left them. 

"Wufei?"

I turned back to Maxwell as he continued to take notes, "Yes?"

He jerked and glanced over, "Whoa . . . how long you been standing there?" He spoke with genuine surprise, I wasn't the only one completely drawn into his narrative. He shrugged, "Anyway . . . Coulda ya make me a cold drink please? I'm kinda thirsty. . ."

I nodded, "What do you want?" I pulled open the fridge and stared at the various cans and bottles, each still bearing a few Marks of Yuy. "Beer? Cola?" 

"Any OJ?"

"No, but we have apple . . ."

"I'll take that!" His cheerful voice bounced back, "Hey Wufei!"

"Yes?" I took out two glasses, dropped a few cubes of ice into them and poured the apple juice into them. I glanced over at the door when Maxwell didn't answer, but thought very little of it. It wasn't unusual for Maxwell to start talking and then just forget to continue. I pick up the glasses and walk through to the living room to find Maxwell missing. I shake my head; no doubt he's rushed off to get something to show me. He likes showing me his models, never to anyone else . . . not even Yuy. I don't quite understand why . . .

I sit the glasses down, sip at mine and sink into the beanbag Maxwell had been sitting on before his war began on the rug. The news is now talking about how Relena is doing in her new job as Vice Foreign Minister. I glanced away; I'm not too keen on the girl. Heero protects her and she does seem to do something good for the war effort but the girl herself? I just can't seem to stand her. I sigh and look down at a model by my feet. It's a little F-17 type mobile suit. I smile, my colony used to have these. I remember watching them rumble and rattle around the place. As a child, I knew very little about war . . . my parents were highly respected by the local military and therefore they went out of their way to make sure our small settlement of Changs were undisturbed by the motions of war. When I was five, the old general of the L5 military decided to have a show of might. Perhaps he was intimidated by the encroaching influence of the Federation.

I picked up the small model and twisted it in my hands.

Anyway, I was five years old peering through the bars of the boundaries as these massive machines rumbled by. It was the first time I saw my wife as well, she was another one of the children from the class of students who attended lessons in my family's halls. She was on the other side of the street, peering through the window. I remember her because she had red, white and blue ribbons in her hair. Unheard of in a society which considers red to be the colour of life, white to be the colour of death and blue to be the emperor's personal colour! 

As I moved the small leg, I remembered the sound of the hydraulics, the way the large foot seemed to make the whole colony shake under my feet. My hair was loose and whipping about my face as the massive foot clicked, groaned and lifted off again.

I slid off the beanbag to be closer to the floor as I walked the funny little machine. 

My mother came screaming out of the complex behind me, grabbing me, hauling me off my feet. She screamed up at the massive machines, furious apparently that I'd been exposed to them. I don't remember much of the encounter, aside from the fact that it left me with a love of old mobile suits. Nobody else knows about them, but whenever the chance comes up to survey a battlefield after we've fought I always take it. Some of the mobile suits we fight are old than I am!     

Feeling a little spiteful, I make the little model kick over a group of toy soldiers. I chuckle quietly to myself and sit the model on the edge of the table as I reach up and sip my drink. 

Maxwell is standing just behind me holding a box. He smiled; we both know he saw me. He doesn't say much, just puts the big box down and picked up his drink. He quickly gulped down half of it and pressed the cold glass against his forehead. "Aahhh . . ." he sighed, "Thanks Wufei!"

"Don't mention it . . ." I murmured. I glance at the box, innocuously marked, '02's', in his large scrawl. "What's that?"

"This, my friend . . ." he positively beamed as he drags the box toward him, "Is my box of my best models!  I thought you might wanna have a gander!"

I sighed; it wasn't like I had anything better to do. "So, what kind of models are they?"

He opened the box; carefully lifting out some padding he put on top. Normally, such a box wouldn't need such heavy-duty padding but Maxwell knows just as well as I do we could be attacked at any moment. We might live a hectic life style, and many of our possessions will probably be lost before the month is out, but some how that doesn't stop Yuy from buying Japanese manga, or Barton and Winner from buying sheet music. It certainly doesn't stop me from collecting Chinese styled things, like my masks and my paper dragons so why should Maxwell stop collecting his models? 

Anyway, after the padding, Maxwell pulled a small box out. He opened with great relish. "I just finished making it!" He glanced up at me, "It took me ages, but I finally wheedled the design specs from the Doctors and scrounged the materials from Howard . . ." he reached into the box and gingerly pulls a very familiar mobile suit model from it. He set it on the table between us and pulled away the last bits of paper padding. Maxwell chuckled as he attached the double-barrelled gun, and pushed the model into a pose. 

A tiny, thirty-centimetre high copy of Heavyarms glowered at us, looking completely ready to jump into the air, do seven spins and fire all his bullets at us. 

I leant closer to get a better look, it was made of plastic and there were teeth marks where Maxwell had pressed parts together with his mouth.

"The eyes are done with this gel paint, so it gets this kinda like our Gundams' eye look. 'Course a model this big; I couldn't really put much circuitry into it." Maxwell leans over with me as he stares at the miniature Heavyarms with complete adoring. 

"Why Heavyarms?" I ask, it's only one of the millions of questions I want to ask, but it's the first one that springs out of my mouth. He chuckled again, and reached into the box. He pulled out four more boxes. Soon, Heavyarms was surrounded with the other Gundams. Each with their own unique features. Each had a little battle damage; a smudge of black burn marks around the Gundams, a little wear and tear on the feet. Nataku even had the little, yet long scratch in its arm from where I'd once dragged my sword in anger. 

I smiled, "Maxwell . . . these are . . ." I picked up Sandrock and pushed the head back, "These are incredible!" 

"I know! I just got all the specs and tried to stay true, but Howard wouldn't let me make 'em outta metal . . . wouldn't it be so unbelievably cool if I made these outta real stuff! HA!" He clapped and rocked slightly, picking up Nataku. "We could send this little guy into Treize's study . . . or maybe, maybe . . ." 

"We could send Mini-Wing Gundam after Zechs and program it to yell 'Omae O Kurosu!' and then it could self-destruct!" I laughed, tossing my head as I picked up Wing and shook it gently toward him, yelling in a chirping Heero-like voice, "I will kill you!" 

Duo giggled as he picked up Heavyarms. He marched it forward, toward the other mobile suit models, "Whirrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmm!!" He growled lowly, sounding not unlike the gattling gun's rapid fire. "Boom! Kah-boom!! We've got to take out their base of operations!" 

I picked up Sandrock and placed him next to Heavyarms in a strategic position to not only protect Heavyarms from enemy fire, but to make sure Heavyarms could cover his back. 

Oh, I don't know . . . we must have played with the Gundams for an hour. 

We just . . . messed about on the rug, we re-enacted a war or two, one that ended with the five Gundams winning the war and became great heroes, there was so much happiness and the Gundams were giant memorials, forever reminding humans about the great war. One ended terribly, all the Gundams were destroyed, it was so sad I almost cried. They'd gotten so close to the end, almost winning the war but somehow they just missed it.

We were half way through the third war when Duo snapped out of it again, and began taking notes. 

Relena was on the TV talking about the brave efforts made by the Gundam Pilots, I put Deathscythe on the table carefully and downed the last of my apple juice. 

Duo sighed as he put down the pad of paper and leant back. 

"How do you think this war will end?" He picked up Wing and stared at it, "Like the first one? With the heroes? Or the one where they all died?"

I shrugged and stared at Heavyarms crouched over Sandrock protectively.

"I don't know . . ." I turned Nataku in my hands, the last war was undecided and now that the mood had been broken it seemed silly to go back to it. I took Nataku's small staff from his hands and clipped it to its back. I stared at it, I'd love to have one of theses after the war. We had to destroy our Gundams, but a model like this would be nice to keep as a reminder. 

"Why do you make these?"

"The models?" Duo hummed for a moment, 'flying' Wing around. "I never really had any toys as a child. Anything I wanted, I had to make anyway . . . so . . . y'know . . ."

I nodded. "What are you going to do with these?"

"Now?" He chuckled, "Now I'm gonna play with 'em because I'm still a big kid . . ." 

After a few more miniature battles, we started to pack them away again. The Gundams we left until last, Heavyarms, Sandrock, Wing and lastly Deathscythe. I handed him Nataku reluctantly, I still wanted to play with it. 

He smiled fondly, "You don't know how much trouble I went through to get everything perfect for Nataku."

"Why?"

"Because . . ." he grinned at me as he packed it into the box again, "Outta all the guys, you're the one who'd notice . . . when I give 'em away to youse guys, I think you, *you* are the one who'd really notice if Nataku had the sword mark on the wrong arm . . ." 

I blinked as he handed over the box to me. 

Looking up, I saw Duo grin at me. "Here . . ." he said, "You keep this one." He leant forward and pointed at the box's inscription. _05, Nataku/Shenlong Gundam Type one. Design: Master O. War begin: A.C – 195 ~ War End: A.C. _

"See, I dunno when the war will end, or how . . . but, you know, it will be nice to have these, huh?" He nudged me with his elbow, "Anyway, keep it 'kay? Just in case you feel like being a kid with me, 'kay?"

I opened the box and stared at Nataku as it lay nestled soft curls of tissue paper. 

"You know . . ." Duo continued, "I wonder how that war would have ended?"

I touched Nataku's head, the first war ended with us as heroes. The second ended with all of us dead. The third was undecided. 

He leant back and stared at the TV. Images of Heavyarms and Wing laying siege to some bases flittered over the screen. "Guess we'll keep on playing until we find out, eh?"

I took Nataku out again, pushing it into a sitting pose on my lap. 

"Promise to keep on playing with me?" Duo asked quietly, he glanced at Nataku fondly, "Don't let Nataku get broken?"

I've never really had my own toy before, I nodded to him. We both know we weren't talking about a couple of boys with their toys, we were talking about those five fighters who fought against the largest organisation, those five brave boys who would either come out of it as heroes or die trying. I smiled slightly as I raised my Nataku model and raised an arm, shaking at him as I squeaked quietly.

"Kisama! I am Gundam! We are Gundam! Nobody dies until justice has been won!"

---------

And Now It's Time To LEAVE IT TO DOCTOR MEGALOMANIA!!!

DrM: ah, it's been a while... and for that i am sincerely sorry, since this is actually a fic I am really kinda fond of! Expect the next three parts soon, since Wufei's just being a bit of a pain... he doesn't want to co-operate because his story involves Relena... 


	3. Zero Three: Control Freak

Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!!

I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. This story is dedicated to my ever wonderful Beta-reader, the Bluegoo, my new beta reader, Clow'd9, and to everyone who helped me out, or wrote to me, reviewed me to tell me to come back during my various stages of depression!

Okay, that's the legal stuff out the way!!

Thinking

"Speaking"

Stress/Emphasis

PlayTime

By Doctor Megalomania

Okay, so this is a series of little ficlets, there's no time line, no real point, nothing that links them, except for the fact they all came to me during various times when I was messing about with my mates . . . yes, I do still like to play with my friends, I am a child at heart and hope to forever remain so! Please R&R!! Oh, and you have to guess which point of view it's from, since it's one pilot's POV about another!

Zero Three: Control Freak

Click

_"--ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHH—"_

Click

_"--Why you!! How dare you—"_

Click

_"--Well, I just came on here to tell all of you that I'm really . . . a man—"_

Click

_"-- Rocky! Brad! Janet!! Doctor Scott—"_

Click

_"-- I fear no man." "Oooooh! That's a lot coming from a man who wears a basket on his head—"_

Click

"-- And IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-iiii-IIIIIIIIIII Wiiiiiilll Allllways Loooooove YooooooOOOOOOOooU, Will Always—"

Click

_"-- Can I phone a friend?—"_

Click

_"--Pukka! Now for the sauce!—"_

Click

_"-- Do you expect me to talk?" ". . . No, Mister Bond . . . I expect you to DIE!!—"_

Click

_"--Space . . . the final frontier . . . these are the voyages of—"_

Click

"--Well, Kyle's mom is a bitch, she a big fat bitch, she's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world, she's a stupid bitch, everyday she's a bitch, she's a bitch to all the boys and girls—"

He snickered. Click

_"--And for only forty-nine, ninety-nine, this will all be yours—"_

Click

I hate it when Quatre and Trowa have a spat.

Click

_"--There are no cats in America! And the streets are paved with Cheese! There are no—"_

Click

No seriously, worse than when Duo is back from his mission and he's too injured to play with his models. Quatre is up on the fifth floor, and I'm stuck with Trowa. You'd think he'd be really quiet. But no . . . I mean, technically he is . . . but Trowa has this ability to bend the noise around him to fill the void.

Click

_"--And God says, God says to phone this line to be saved! I know, yes sir, I know you've been told this all before but this new kinda of—"_

Click

I don't know what he did to get Quatre so irked at him, but . . . I sighed and paused in my report typing. Even with headphones on the muted undertones of Trowa channel hopping just filtered through.

"Trowa. . .?"

Click

_"-- Transformers, Robots in disguise—"_

Click

He gave a deep sigh. A dark green eye deigned to swivel in my direction. He blinked once, his motion to me to speak now or forever hold my peace. I pushed away from my laptop and walked passed Duo's model shelf. A small paper dragon had appeared there recently, and I was left wondering what kind of truce Wufei and Duo had recently come to. I shrugged it off, making a note to ask Duo about it later.

Click

_"--Frankly my dear . . . I don't give a damn!—"_

Click

Trowa's gaze slipped off me and returned to the TV. I swallowed; he was as pissed off as Quatre. Not that I knew how pissed off Quatre was, but if you looked at one, generally the other was in the same level of disgruntled-postal-worker-ness.

Click

_"--Mother . . . no, mother . . . oh god, mother! The blood, the blood!—"_

Click

_"--Teletubbies! Teletubbies, say hell-lo!—"_

I stared at him for a moment longer before sinking into the giant beanbag Duo seemed to make magically appear every time we moved to a new safehouse.

"Trowa." I began, "Look; you know I'm not good—"

Click

_"--Look . . . don't think I don't understand . . . I do . . . really, I do. It's just . . . I don't care!—"_

Click

"Trowa!"

He glanced at me, his postal-worker-about-to-go-postal-a-metre notching one strike closer to him disappearing on us and running away to the circus . . . after he'd wreaked some sort of destruction on us.

Never on Quatre's property, no as that would just get him even further in trouble.

Just on US. The other pilots. Last time they had a fight, Duo found his chocolate double chocolate chip cookie ice cream MINUS the chocolate chips. Yes, Trowa is that spiteful when he puts his mind to it.

He stared at me, getting more and more angry by the second.

Click

_-- "Oh, please Mister Frodo!! Don't let him turn me into anything . . . unnatural . . ."—_

Click

I had to act fast.

I had cherry bakewells stashed in my cupboard and the cherries are my favourite bit.

No way in hell am I eating a cherry bakewell without a cherry sitting primly in the middle of the inch thick icing. That's just . . . wrong!

"Go apologise to him."

"To who?" Trowa raised the remote control and switched the channel again.

Click

_"--__That would be the French. . . Latin based o'course . . . Inventers of Mayonnaise—"_

Click

"To you know who."

"What? Are we playing a game now?" Trowa muttered darkly. I could almost hear my cherries shaking with fear. "Can I play? How about you get you know what, coat it liberally with some you know what else, stick it up you know where and twirl on it like you know how?"

I had a secure lock on Wing, I could just hide my cherry bakewells there. . . although . . . that would leave them open to attack from Duo . . . hmm. . .

Click

_"-- Then why don't you just say it, damnit it! Why don't you just say you were wrong?!—"_

Click

Duo eating them all, or Trowa stealing the cherries. . .?

"Trowa. . ." I leant forward and clasped my hands, "I'm telling you that you should listen to your emotions. . ."

"And if my emotions are telling me right now to sit here and flick channels all day and all night what do I do then?"

I wanted to slap my forehead, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "Trowa. . . look past the emotions that are bad, and think about the ones which you care for Quatre with. . ."

He blinked and looked at me, actually turned his head and squinted at me.

What?

I was desperate. I've not had cherry bakewells for ages, and it's the one treat that Relena DOESN'T know I love. . . Christmas Time, right? I made a vaguely pleasant sounding 'Hn' when Duo fed me some eggnog he'd cobbled together. Next thing I knew, Relena was having fancy French-style, the most expensive kind known to mankind, eggnog trucked – yes, Trucked, she bought a whole truckload – to the Christmas place we were staying at.

Has the girl not heard of subtly?

Did she not realise that I didn't try the official eggnog on serving?

Perhaps she missed the fact that Duo's eggnog was almost seventy percent alcohol, and had Duo's Special Touch.

Oh, I know what she didn't get!

The fact Duo had leapt into my lap and, quite drunkenly, spoon-fed me with this eggnog.

Click

_"--This film is rated R, for scenes of a sexual or possibly violent nature—"_

Click

Back to Trowa.

He was still squinting at me, trying to figure out where this kinder, gentler Heero had come from.

"Why is it so important to you?" He asks, his uncanny ability to hit the nail in the head comes into play and I have to improvise.

"I don't what this unwarranted tension between you affecting your overall ability to perform on the battlefield. It's a security risk and if you do not resolve it . . ." I nod, all the time in my mind I keep getting this mental picture of two little versions of me, one with angel wings and the other with devil wings. The Angel-Heero was nodding majestically, occasionally muttering something about the Mission. The Devil-Heero – who oddly sounded a lot like Duo – just kept running in little circles, chanting about cherry bakewells.

Click

_"--That boy's got a one-track mind, Myrtle—"_

Click

Sue me.

I'm single minded.

Trowa stared at me as I lay out my threat.

". . . if you cannot resolve it, I will not hesitate to eliminate one of you."

And most likely . . . the little devil in my mind growled, that will be you, Trowa . . . yes you, he who would desiccate MY cherry bakewells.

"Oh . . . I get it . . ." Trowa flicked the channel. "You're worried about your cherries."

Click

_"--It's a lie, a dirty lie boss! Don't rub me out, boss! I'm beggin' yer boss!—"_

Click

I blinked. Trowa's psychic, must be. I grit my teeth, "No . . . I'm worried about two of my friends, who are so close to each other and have never had a reason to fight, who adore each other!"

"And would these friends happen to be both very small, sweet, red, glacier, and sitting perfectly in the centre of half an inch of icing?"

"Yes." He smirked. The TV clicked. I jerked, "NO!! I mean you and Quatre!"

Click

_"--Pinky . . . Are you thinking what I'm thinking?—"_

Click

He glanced at me again, "There's nothing wrong between us . . . your cherries are safe . . ." He didn't need to say it, but I still heard it like he'd hollered it. '. . . for now'. Even his hair seemed to cackle evilly. I pursed my lips.

"Trowa."

No, I was not going to let it go. Cherries aside, Trowa was one of my best friends, Quatre was another. To see them hurtin—Damnit! My cherry bakewells are at stake!

"Just go apologise to him."

"Why should I apologise? It wasn't my fault!"

Click

_"--OOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooHHHHH!! JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!---"_

Click

"Well, whose fault is it?"

He was silent.

I'll take that as a big fat, **OKAY IT'S MY FAULT!**

"Trowa. . ."

Click

_"--Scully. . . the truth . . . the truth is out there. . . we just need to keep reaching for it. . .—"_

Click

"Stop flicking the channels. Go upstairs. Find Quatre and apologise to him." I gritted my teeth as he raised the remote again, "Will it kill you to just go to him?"

"Possibly, last time I saw him he had a definite ZERO system look in his eye. I've been blown to smithereens once before." He pressed the button down hard, and the channel jumped again, "Not again, thank you very muchly!"

Click

_"--I've got a nine letter word . . . Frustrate. As in to frustrate the hopes of someone. . . –"_

Click

I wanted to bang my head against the wall. Why wasn't Wufei here? Or Duo, even Duo could word things so Trowa would have no choice but to go upstairs and apologise to Quatre! Not that anyone would understand him, sometimes that boy just speaks way to fast, but at least the key words would stand out, Trowa would leave just to Duo to shut up and I would be able to return to my cherry –uh, my report with the satisfaction that Trowa wouldn't be able to touch my cherry bakewells.

Click

"--Mary-ann . . . I just . . . I just want to tell you that I . . . I love you Mary-Ann, I know it ain't proper for a boy like me to . . . to talk so openly about matters like this but . . . –"

I blinked, Trowa wasn't flicking away. We sat watching the program for a while. It was an old, old, pre-colony thing. A romantic trashy love story about a poor boy and his rich master's daughter. He was too poor to even buy the right shoes to take her to the ball. It was worthless pap but I glanced at Trowa and saw he was almost completely engrossed by it.

Trowa . . . Trowa was never quite over the gulf between him and Quatre's statuses. During the war we needed money. I hacked into accounts and transferred it, Wufei sold some old heirloom of his family, Duo relied on Howard and their system of 'I'll scratch your back and you scratch mine'. Duo got his Gundam fixed, in return Howard woke up after every major mission Duo had with a nice hold filled with working debris from suits that had gotten destroyed or 'liberated'. Quatre was of course the richest of us all. He had a huge corporate machine and the use of the Magnurac to help him. Quatre's father's will stipulated that while his daughters were well cared for, then all he wanted for the rest of his money and for his son was the upkeep of peace.

Trowa in the meantime had the most expensive Gundam and the least resources.

He had no family heirlooms, no outside accomplices to trade favours with and not quite the computer skills needed to delicately extract funds and hide them as soon as possible. On top of that, Trowa was damned stubborn and always refused to accept anyone's charity.

While the Barton foundation continued to be coerced into sending enough money to buy the bullets, missiles and some of the more important parts of Heavyarms, Trowa's living expenses had to be paid for by himself.

_"--You?! Heh, you're nothing but a servant! Why would Miss Grace be interested in a whelp like you?!—" _

So Trowa worked at the circus, as one of their star attractions, he worked damned hard. I always listen to the local radios around the area he works in. Always looking out for the circus, how it's doing, where's they going . . . I know the others do it too. How can we not? Trowa's our friend!

He doesn't know it, but Quatre, by the way of many false fronts, other companies and a tangle of red tape, paperwork and grim faced pencil pushers, partially funds the circus. More specifically, he funds the upkeep of the lions . . . by providing the bedding and the cages, and extracting a promise from the master of circus that should the circus ever run into financial trouble and it looks like they may have to get rid of the animals that all he needs to do is pick up the phone and dial a certain number, state the problem, the amount of money needed to make that problem go away, and then to go to bed with ease of mind.

_"--I won't let you get away with this, you whelp! You'll never be worthy of her!—"_

The ringmaster doesn't know whom he'd deal with.

Catherine will never know that her 'brother's' beloved lions are indirectly protected.

Therefore Trowa will never ever know that Quatre is silently making sure Trowa's favourite animals are never taken from him. Quatre is not keeping Trowa. No. Every penny Trowa earns is his own, has never seen the inside of the Winner vault, and most certainly is not charity. All Quatre does is protecting Trowa's lions.

Almost like I protect my cherry bakewells.

I can almost feel a tear prickling the corner of my eye, the similarities are heartbreakingly close.

_"-- You fool! It's not you I love! You and your money! It all means nothing to me!—"_

There was a quiet click from the door behind us, and Quatre paused there. He stared at the TV for a moment blankly, looking utterly miserable.

Click

_"--Ayuh, Jerry! I came on here, The Jerry Springer Show, to let healing begin . . .—"_

Click

The moment passes and Trowa resumes his clicking, Quatre's eyes narrow and he's angry again. He walks through to the kitchen and starts making something . . . something that requires the food processor to be on and very, very, very loud bangs of the pots and pans.

Click

"-- Wha-what are you doing here? I thought you were in Denver . . . marrying that girl from Connecticut–-"

Click

Trowa's hand clenches.

Click

_"--Lock and load! All sights on the target!—"_

Click

I get up to stand by my laptop, shutting down the applications and the reports. Finally, it looks like I get to watch some television tonight.

Click

"--Grissom, did anyone ever tell you? You are one strange guy . . . isn't there anything that grosses you out? I know it's not dead people, bugs, putting your hand down toilets . . . come on Griss, tell me—"

He bites his lips. He can hear, just as well as I can the muffled sniffs and the quite cursing of his name.

_"-- Grissom. . . I'm waiting. . .—"_

Trowa's eyes start to grow sad. No matter how deep his self-pitying depressions rip into him, the ones that tell him that Quatre's just way out of his reach, the idea that Quatre's hurting because of him cuts him just that tiny bit deeper.

_"-- well, if you really need to know . . .—"_

I smile. Cherries are safe. Trowa stands and starts toward the kitchen.

_"-- it's soppy, happy endings . . . they just give me the shivers! –"_

And now Trowa and Quatre's relationship is safe too.

My cherries are safe.

Click

_"--Myrtle, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that boy's got a one-track mind . . .—"_

Click

I know Quatre and Trowa are going to be safe.

Everything pretty much safe.

Click

"--Tell me how do you do it, walk me through it, I'll follow in every footstep, Baby on your own you take a cautious step, do you wanna give that up? But all I want is for you to Shine! Shine down on me, shine down on this life that's burning out!—"

Click

You know . . .

I sat back; digging deep into the sofa and pulling out a small metal box I'd hidden there for safekeeping. Just a little pick-me-up. Just when I was too tired to get up and walk all the way to kitchen.

Click

"--He believes in a beauty, he's Venus as a boy, he believes in a beauty, I'm jealous! He believes in a beauty, he's Venus as a boy . . .-"

Click

The cherry bakewell's perfect little cherry smiled up at me as I opened the box. Like I had completed my mission tonight, the little cherry was about to complete his.

Click

_"--You know . . . you're a lucky son of a gun, but I like ya . . . Kid, you're alright by me—"_

Click

The food processor clicked off and the pots and pans stilled. I allowed myself a small smile as I chomped down on my saved cherry bakewell.

Click

"--Don't you just feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like gramma stuck your feet in the oven with her oatmeal cookies?—"

Click

You know, when Trowa acts all possessive and so totally focused on something like that you'd think he was some sort of control freak . . .

Click

"--Hey Ted, you know the other day when you asked what Irony meant . . . well, here's a good example of it, right here, right now. . . –"

Click

Damn, you'd think with five hundred channels there'd be something worth watching on . . .

Click

_"--And that . . . that is the end of that chapter, my friends . . . take a bow, you boys, you did good tonight!—"_

Click

---------

And Now It's Time To LEAVE IT TO DOCTOR MEGALOMANIA!!!

DrM: Tah dah!! A new chapter!! See, see!! I haven't forgotten about this story… it's just taking me a hellava long time to get them done!! Please RR and tell me what you think!! Thank you!


	4. Zero Four: Slink Or Swim

Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!

I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. This story is dedicated to my ever wonderful Beta-reader, the Bluegoo, my new beta reader, Clow'd9, and to everyone who helped me out, or wrote to me, reviewed me to tell me to come back during my various stages of depression!

Okay, that's the legal stuff out the way!

Thinking

"Speaking"

Stress/Emphasis

_PlayTime_

By Doctor Megalomania

Okay, so this is a series of little ficlets, there's no time line, no real point, nothing that links them, except for the fact they all came to me during various times when I was messing about with my mates . . . yes, I do still like to play with my friends, I am a child at heart and hope to forever remain so! Please RR! Oh, and you have to guess which point of view it's from, since it's one pilot's POV about another!

Zero Four: Slink or Swim

Five hundred channels and there's nothing on.

I had been wondering why I never watched TV anymore.

I sighed and got up from the bed. I switched off the damned box and returned to my bed to flop gracelessly – hey, not everything I do is graceful – back onto its much underused springs. The bed creaked. I felt its pain. It had springs, springs that were supposed to stop creaking after some vigorous training and yet . . . I glanced at the door. Quatre was upstairs again.

And if tonight is anything like last night, I suppose I won't be seeing much of him. Or if it's anything like the night, or the before that, or indeed ever in the last three weeks, I won't be seeing much of him at all, but hey, a man can dream!

Unless. . .

Brushing my oh-so-quirky hair away from my face, I got up with a sigh and opened the door. I walked along the hall, hearing Heero's fingers tapping away at his laptop, passed Wufei's room where I could hear him and Duo making up stories again about Duo's models. Bizarre, who'd ever thought Wufei would enjoy Duo's company for something they both love?

Anyway, I finally got to the largest stairwell.

This stairwell was very, very, very, very long. Considering it ran all the way from the basement right up to the fifth floor. It coiled in lazy loops right through out the house and Quatre was the only one who used it. The rest of us – call us lazy – preferred the lifts . . . yes, the safe house has lifts. Quatre never does anything small.

I smirk to myself.

Me included.

Hee hee.

Hey, just because I don't talk much doesn't mean I don't think much. Besides, when you live with four other boys pretty much all the time, you rarely develop any manners. Or at least that's my excuse.

I stepped out on to the stairwell, fully intending to mount the stairs and go see the young Master Winner.

Or at least I was going to do that . . . had the Young Master Winner not sped past me, ridding the inner, unbroken railing.

"HiTrowa!Can'tStopNow,OnAMission!" Quatre's voice grew quieter as he sped away from me, along the curling rail.

I blinked for a moment.

Then a moment longer.

Then I ran over to the rail and looked down to see the blonde headed angel of my dreams ride the rail to about the second floor – we're on the third if you didn't know – and then let out a low disappointed moan. I blinked as he hopped off the rail, disappeared from sight for a few seconds then started jogging back up the stairs.

"Hi Trowa, How are you tonight? Hope you're fine, bai bai now!"

He ran past me, delivering the one line to me in a breathless pant as he continued to make his way up the stairs and disappearing straight into the shadows that engulfed the fourth floor.

I'm a patient man.

I could have just waited until he came back down again.

But I also want to get laid tonight so. . .

No.

I sprinted after him, taking the steps two and three at a time. I was breathing heavily, Duo might have called it panting, but never in a blue moon am I admitting to him that I was out of breath. I swallowed, trying to make it look like I wasn't having such a hard time trying to catch my breath again as I walked the last few steps to the fifth floor.

Pausing on the fourth step down from the top, I glanced at Quatre as he crouched down on the second step. His body was coiled to spring out of the way; he was counting down quietly under his breath. I glanced at the top of the stairs and saw immediately he'd been here all day. His mobile phone was on a charger nearby, his lunch was partially eaten, still on the tray and he had the thermal flask he'd taken up this morning after filling it with tea.

A quiet shushing noise began and Quatre quickly jumped up. I have to admit I was far too caught up in gazing down the back of his trousers – which strangely enough were not his favourite khakis but some elasticy corded purple hipsters – that had slipped down enough to give me an eyeful of Quatre's lovely pert behind.

"Trowa!"

I recognise that tone. . .

That's the 'Trowa-gets-no-nookie!' tone!

No! Since our fight a couple of nights back, Trowa's not been getting any nookie! Trowa was promised nookie tonight though! Trowa wants nookie!

I blinked hastily and glanced at my love with concern. I forestalled the obvious question on my mind. Why would Trowa not be getting nookie tonight after he's been such a good boy?for the better put, "Quatre, what's wrong?"

His slim pale hands tugged up his trousers, making his hipbones – which the slipping trousers had also revealed – disappear from my sight and made more of my hormones wail in sheer disappointment. His beautiful fine blonde eyebrows were drawn moodily as he stomped up to me and stood on the two steps above mine so we would be at eyelevel. "Good thing for you that it's here this time and not five steps down from the end isn't it, Trowa?"

I winced at the tone behind my name again.

And then I looked down.

Resting against my foot was the damned slinky again.

Oh for crying out loud.

That bloody thing is what landed me in so much hot water the first time.

I'd had the misfortune of picking it up just as it was nearing the end, I mean Quatre had been running after it looking intent on catching the thing and I'd never seen one before, so how was I supposed to know that it wouldn't break once it met with the hard floor. Anyway, five steps from the end I'd picked the cursed rainbow coloured springy thing up from the floor and glanced up to see Quatre about to go ZERO on me.

His beautiful eyes were wide open and his mouth stretched in a way I thought only I could get it to stretch.

Then he started to go very, very red in the face.

It was then I knew that I had to either sink or swim. Flee or fight. Roll over or get my backside spanked with a rolled up newspaper. Apologise or . . . not apologise.

Sometimes I wonder where I got this stubborn streak. I sure as hell wasn't this stubborn when I was with the mercenaries, or when I was a mechanic with Doktor S . . . it must be the Gundam Effect.

Anyway . . . that's why I haven't been getting any nookie for the last few days.

I refused to apologise.

I swam.

I fought.

I got my backside spanked by a rolled up copy of the Financial Times.

Hence me being so sour for the last few days. You try being normal and happy when your lover's given you a spanking with his Financial Times and not even given you a kiss to make it feel better.

Ahem. Back to now.

Quatre folded his arms and glared at me for a moment longer before sighing explosively and crouching down in front of me to pick up the accursed slinky. He jostled it from hand to hand before looking at me. "So what brings you up here, Trowa?"

I bit back a smile; ZERO system was going into cooling, Quatre's tone was not threatening further retention of nook. "I came looking for you . . ." I blinked as he sank down on to the stairs and looked up at me, the accursed slinky still spilling from one pale hand to the other. "I was getting bored of waiting for you; it's nearly midnight Quatre."

He blinked and leant back, the slinky stilling as he picked up his mobile phone and stared at the clock on it. "So it is . . ." he chuckled quietly. He glanced up at me, cute angelic features that tormented me in my sleep, features that could quite easily turn devilish once there was a bit of fumbling in the sheets.

I sighed and sat beside him, he was in an amiable mood.

Amiable.

As in friendly.

As in 'Trowa, isn't it great that we are friends' kinda mood.

As in Trowa ain't getting no nookie tonight even if he has been a good boy.

I glared at the accursed slinky as it enjoyed spilling from one hand to another. Damnit, I was getting slinky envy! The stupid plastic coil was getting more action than I was!

Did Quatre, my beloved, get ZERO angry at the slinky when it attacked me!

No!

He chuckled sweetly and sighed as he rested his head against my shoulder, "Ah, Trowa . . . you've found me out at last . . ." I slide my eyes half off the slinky, I didn't trust it but I stared at his soft hands.

"Found out what?"

He chuckled again, softly, his cheek rubbing the rough wool of my favourite green turtleneck – which for once I was wearing for its intended purpose of keeping me warm, rather than the real reason I wore it most of the time.

Quatre bites in bed.

Mmmeoow!

Anyway, he chuckled and I felt strangely comforted that it was just him and me up here. Alone. In the near darkness. Oooh. It was kind of kinky. My hormones let out a loud cheer, tickling me from my toes to my ears as I let my gaze slip off his hands to his crown of golden hair. He was staring down, leaning warmly against me. I felt my lips pucker up automatically as I leant over for the kill. That sweet little kiss on his head might just be my ticket to getting some nook—

"OH!"

I kissed thin air as Quatre slipped off the step we were perched on and after the accursed slinky. My head snapped around, as he came back up the stairs and sat down beside me. Still amiable. As in friendly. As in—I'M GOING TO DESTROY THAT BLOODY SLINKY!

Jealous bloody slinky, probably did it on purpose.

It KNEW I was about to get Quatre's attention off it and back where it rightfully belongs. Me. As in Trowa Barton. As in nanashi. As in ME!

I tried not to growl, keeping my face schooled in a patient mask of indifference.

What Quatre didn't know, wouldn't hurt him.

Particularly since I was silently informing the bloody, accursed slinky that I was about to declare a little war of my own on it for its ongoing persistence in denying me Quatre and his most scrumptious nookie.

I felt my eyes narrowed as I glared at the accursed, rainbow coloured slinky.

Quatre wasn't leaning against me now; it – the slinky – was mocking me. It spilled from his hand to the other, fluidly. Like it knew it was taunting me.

"I love slinkies."

I blinked out of my glaring match with the accursed slinky. "Pardon?"

"I said I love slinkies." Quatre smiled and shook his head; "I thought I'd lost it until I found this safe house again. I love playing with it and ever since I was child, I've been trying to get it to get all the way down to the bottom in one go." He chuckled warmly again and looked up at me, I felt my heart melt.

His eyes were darkened with the shadows, turning them from ocean blue to something more . . .

Let's just say I had to fight to stop myself from licking my lips.

Although I couldn't stop the almost silent sigh. You wonder why I'm obsessing over nookie with this man? Quatre is gorgeous. Not in the same, complete sex appeal as Duo, or Heero's intense brooding. Not in the way Wufei smoulders when he's angry, and just a few hairs pull loose. No, Quatre is gorgeous in the way that makes me want to hide away, makes me want to hide him away. He's like an uncut diamond. Still hidden from view by his puberty, but deep inside you just know he's pure, clear, sparkling with unseen elegance that has yet to blossom.

. . . Quatre makes me want to hide him away.

He makes me want to hide him from everyone else so when he finally becomes physically what he already is he'll be all mine. Heart-breaking handsome not only in the way he is, but the way he looks.

He makes me want to hide away from him because sometimes I wonder . . . do I deserve this? This love he has for me, is it really mine? To keep? Forever?

Those ocean blue eyes, his parted lips, his sweat drenched hair as it coils back on the pillow . . .

His hand as it waves before my face?

His voice so laced with concern for—I blinked out of my fantasy as Quatre pinched my nose shut and I couldn't breath.

"Trowa!" He chuckled as I yanked his hand off my face, "I was afraid you'd fallen asleep while I poured out my childhood to you . . ."

I stared at him with all seriousness, trying to think of a more suitable answer than - I was fantasying about getting some nookie with you, wanna make it a reality, baby?and came up with this brilliant reply of:

"Huh?"

He smiled warmly.

"Trowa. . ." he breathed my name and leant forward, his lips pursing together adorable. His eyelids fluttered shut as he tilted his head. Yes! I was going to get some! I rushed forward to meet him half way, feeling my tongue licking the back of my teeth, raring for some action at last.

"Whoops!"

My eyes shot open as once again I French-kissed thin air.

I felt my jaw slacken; my hormones threaten to commit suicide as Quatre ran after his slinky again.

DAMN YOU! I cried mentally at the slinky, ACCURSED RAINBOW COLOURED COILED SPRING THING FROM THE DEEPEST DARKEST CIRCLE OF HELL!

Innocent Quatre, ignorant of the slinky's attempts to part us! He jogged back up the stairs and before I could even remotely try to instigate a mutual exploration of mouths that we'd both come to know very, very well, he turned and pulled at the cup/lid of the thermal flask. That's it. Amiable Quatre drinking tea with me meant no way, no how, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred pounds, go straight to the showers baby, and cool it.

I sighed and folded my arms on my knees and leant my chin on my forearms.

I want nookie.

"What's wrong, Trowa?"

Innocent Quatre, trying to cheer me up. I sighed, knowing now I was just sulking. I felt his warm, strong hands rub up my back and knead hard against my shoulders. He scooted over, placing his knees by each side of my jeans clad hips. I felt his body lean against my back and his hands start to massage me.

"Trowa . . ." he murmured, almost admonishing me, "You're tense . . . what's wrong?"

Try not sleeping with your boyfriend for a couple of weeks and getting jealous of a slinky and then talk to me. I sighed and said nothing. He leant closer, mistaking my sigh for me actually saying something.

"What was that, love?" He breathed into my ear. I felt my hormones play around with my stomach as he began to kiss my ear delicately.

Someone has been missing the nookie too!

. . . I would have sung that, had I wanted to risk destroying this quiet moment where Quatre was quite playfully nibbling my ear.

God, I love that. . .

I leant back, leaning my head back until it pushed against his shoulder and I could stare at him. He was focused on me now, his eyes liquidly shifting from light azure to dark sapphire. I meant to kiss him, drive all thought of the accursed slinky from his mind.

I love him.

I love him dearly.

"Trowa . . ." he breathed in that special way, his hand sliding over my chest as he shuffled once more so he could wrap one arm around my front. His hand brushed over my heart as he leant forward, whispering as he pressed his forehead against mine. "I love you . . . Allah, Trowa . . ."

My lips parted as I shifted one arm to wrap around his back, letting it slid down until it touched those scandalously low slung purple trousers.

"My heart Trowa, Allah, Trowa I can feel your heart . . ."

His lips parted, his eyes fluttered shut. I heard a familiar shushing noise as the accursed slinky pushed itself off the stair and began to spill down the stairs, almost screaming unreasonably that if Quatre loved it, he'd go after it.

My hormones were too distracted by the pale pink lips hovering above my own to notice my sense of honour kick up.

"Your slinky . . ." I whispered, honour wining over any lust I felt.

His eyes opened, staring into my half lidded one. He already knew. He smiled like a cat that had the cream, the mouse and the cake. "The slinky can wait . . ." he murmured back, swallowing my moan as he pressed against me, kissed me deeply. ". . . you . . ." his pale strong hands ran down my front and my back, stroking warmly, "you can't . . ."

The slinky continued down the stairs as we kissed.

Its shush-shush-shush-shush noise down the steps faded away as Quatre stole my breath away and reminded me all over again why I never wanted to die. To die was to never be kissed by him again. Naturally, I returned the favour.

He curled around me and stared down the stairs, absently running his hand up and down my jeans clad thighs.

We sat like that for a long while, staring down at the light while hidden by the shadows. He shifted his head slightly, purposely digging his chin into my shoulder. Resting there he stared at my profile, he smiled and chuckled at some private joke.

"What?"

"Nothing. . ." he smiled more, almost smirking, "Trowa . . .?"

"Yes, lover?"

His smile faded slightly at the rarely used term of endearment and he leant forward to kiss me again.

"Trowa, I love you . . . I'm sorry I got angry at you for stopping my slinky . . ."

I smiled slightly, and raised my hand, fondly running a finger just under the waistband of his low-slung trousers. "That's okay . . . I'm sorry I stopped it at the bottom."

He raised his hips slightly, playfully pushing against my hand. "That's okay . . ." he blinked.

Oh no.

He's remembered the slinky.

Damnit!

My finger no longer caressed soft skinned, pert backsideness!

Quatre had sprung up and was pacing over to the inner rail. He sat on it primly, like a lady sitting side seat on a horse and glanced at me. "Don't you wanna know how far it got?"

I raised an eyebrow, the hidden one of course, the one perpetually hidden my oh-so-quirky hair and thought of where I hope the slinky had ended up.

For example:

Under my Gundam's foot.

In Heero's room where hopefully he'd mistake it for Relena and shoot it.

The deepest, darkest circle of hell from whence it came from.

I'm sure I could have thought of other more delightful places it could have been but I was still frazzled from Quatre's kisses.

Sighing, I climbed onto the railing in a manlier manner than Quatre, sitting astride it. He glanced down at the way I was sat and looked up with me with a knowing smile. "Trowa, I'm not sitting this way because I've got twenty-nine sisters and have turned out a little more feminine than most other boys. I'm sitting like this because at the end of the rail there's this rather hard, painful stone statuette and I wish to retain the thing that keeps me from becoming the thirtieth Winner daughter."

Ah.

Right.

I quickly moved so I was sitting next to Quatre, my right hip pressed tightly against his left. He grinned at me and moved his arm so he could hold my left side and I moved my hand so I could hold onto his right. The two free hands, we silently agreed, to used for steering and balance.

"Keep your feet up!" Quatre whispered to me as if we were about to do something terribly naughty. He grinned again and lifted his feet, giving a little push to the floor as he did so. We were off!

We began to pick up pace as we reached the fourth floor, and had to lean back a little so I could keep my feet up. It was . . . it was so much fun! It was so childish, but Quatre couldn't help the little whoop he let out as we finally sped past the third floor, really flying down the rail! I chuckled as I felt his hand tighten and he glanced back at me, his blue eyes sparkling as we flew down the railing together.

The slinky hadn't stopped so far, and neither would we!

The second floor whooshed past us, and Quatre cried out excitedly, "I've never gotten this far before!" He leant over, almost toppling us over as he pressed a kiss against my lips hard. "Trowa, it must have reached the end this time!"

Somehow the danger of us toppling off the rail made it all the more fun. It was stupid and dangerous, we could have broken our necks but . . . I tightened my hand on Quatre, making him look at me again.

I kissed him.

Hard.

Suddenly we were plunged into shadows as we past into the basement that lead to the Gundam's hanger. He broke my kiss, looked utterly flushed and snapped his head around.

"Trowa!" He called, "get ready to jump!"

We jumped off the rail just as the statue at the end of the rail came up. Stumbling about each other, finally we managed to sit down on the floor. A little dizzy, a little high on the adrenaline that the slide had brought, we stared at each other and laughed hard.

After a bit, his laughs slowed to hiccup and mine receded into snorts and the odd chuckle. He stood and offered a hand to help me up. I made to pull him down to me the first time, but got up. I didn't let go of his hand as he flicked on the lights and looked around the stairs for his slinky.

"Well, would you look at that . . .?"

I looked up from my licking of Quatre's neck with some disinterest and saw that the slinky had rather stubbornly stopped on the last step from the floor.

He giggled as he crouched down and picked up the accursed slinky.

"You know something Trowa . . . I finally figured out one of the reasons why I love this slinky so much . . ."

I narrowed my eyes, a slinking suspicion I knew what he was going to say next.

"I mean it's so damned stubborn . . . sometimes, it almost reminds me of you!"

He giggled as he jogged off to the lifts. He waited patiently, letting the accursed slinky spill from hand to hand. "Come on, Trowa!" He grinned, not realising how crazy he drove me sometimes, "let's do it again!"

Although, "Yes, my love . . ." came out of my mouth and earned me a nice hot making out session all the way up in the lift, I was really thinking . . .

DAMN YOU ACCURSED RAINBOW COLOURED COILED SPRING THING FROM THE DEEPEST DARKEST CIRCLE OF HELL! I'LL GET YOU ONE DAY! MARK MY WORDS! YOUR DAYS UPON THIS EARTH AS THE BANE OF MY LOVE LIFE IS NUMBERED!

Still – I smiled later that night as I stroked those sweat drenched golden locks – I really do love him.

I just hate his slinky.


	5. Zero Five: Pet Hate

Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!

I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. This story is dedicated to my ever wonderful Beta-reader, the Bluegoo, my new beta reader, Clow'd9, and to everyone who helped me out, or wrote to me, reviewed me to tell me to come back during my various stages of depression!

Okay, that's the legal stuff out the way!

((Thinking))

"Speaking"

_Stress/Emphasis_

PlayTime

By Doctor Megalomania

Okay, so this is a series of little ficlets, there's no time line, no real point, nothing that links them, except for the fact they all came to me during various times when I was messing about with my mates . . . yes, I do still like to play with my friends, I am a child at heart and hope to forever remain so! Please R&R! Oh, and you have to guess which point of view it's from, since it's one pilot's POV about another!

Zero Five: Pet Hate

_DING-DING-DING-DONG!_

I yawned as I padded to the front door. Blurry eyed from the night before, and clutching Trowa's large over sized dark green bathrobe's collar shut, I pulled open the door and stared at Miss Relena Peacecraft.

I blinked owlishly. It was three AM.

Relena.

Here.

Three in the morning.

…Eh?

The only reason I was up was because Wufei hadn't come back yet from his mission and I was getting worried. I stared at Relena until my manners woke up and she was already pushing past me. "Heero!" She called out. "Heeeero!"

"Relena!" I hissed, closing the door. I was just waking up now and remembered that Duo had recently taken to sleeping in Heero's room. Some good had come out of the labelling incident, I think. "Relena! Be quiet . . ." I had to get her to shut up; I didn't want an incident to wake up anyone else! "Relena, Heero's off on a mission, will you kindly be quiet? The others are trying to sleep!"

She spun to me and blinked with her cornflower blue eyes rapidly filling with haughty distain. "Oh . . ." she held up a box, "I recently found out that Heero's birthday has just come and passed so I got him something special." The box was heavy as she thrust it into my arm and began toward the door. She paused dramatically and turned back to me, "Please tell him . . . that this gift is to remind him always of me, that he can keep this gift by his side and always look down at it and think of me. Even when we are too far away, we will always be together!"

And with that particular melodramatic remark, Relena spun and walked out.

It's three AM.

I'm in nothing but Trowa's comfy slippers and his dark green bathroom, which is far too big for me and is slipping off my shoulder.

And I'm holding Heero's birthday present.

I raised an eyebrow and yawned.

The box yawned too.

My eyes widened with horror.

What on Earth had Relena given him!

Wufei was in the kitchen as I stumbled in.

He was dressing a deep cut on his arm rather unsuccessfully and jerked when I entered. He winced as he swore quietly; the jerk pulled the bandage too tight. Momentarily forgetting the box Relena sent, I set about fixing Wufei's arm and asking him about his mission.

"Xie, Xie Winner . . ." Wufei murmured gratefully as I undid the messy dressing and started to clean the wound better. "The mission went a little better than I look," he chuckled slightly, "Nataku and I came out on top once more . . ." he smirked as he thought about a particular move he must have made and thumped the table, "Damn good fight! OZ must be training themselves better . . ."

The box yipped.

Wufei blinked and stared at the box.

The box jumped up, then scuttled a little to the left before rocking back and forth.

Wufei turned his head slowly to look at me, as I shrugged. "It was a gift to Heero from Relena . . ."

The box finally succeeded in falling over, rolling off the table and on to the floor with a loud sharp bark, and a few pitiful whimpers.

We stared at each other before Wufei stood and motioned me back. He approached the box with graceful silent movements, and finally crouched down. There was a quiet ripping noise as Wufei opened the box and he gave a low sound of surprise.

I tiptoed over to him and found a small black Labrador puppy standing on its back legs, forepaws leaning on Wufei's knees, puppily trying to lick his nose. Its little black tail swished back and forth happily and the puppy barked a few excited, happy yaps. It had adorable wide eyes, one eye was blue as Heero's, the other a deeper shade of green than Trowa's. I made a mental note to take the puppy to the vets to get it checked out, and then to buy all the stuff it needed. Oh, and I'd better get it lots of toys to play with and insure the house against possible

"It can't stay here."

I blinked as Wufei glared at me.

"Why not?" I asked in my quietest, you're-breaking-my-heart voice. It worked so well on the others—

"No. I hate dogs."

Why did it never work on Wufei!

"But Wufei, Relena –"

"Damn the woman." Wufei picked it up by the scruff of the neck and held it at arm's length to me, the puppy barked happily. He – because even I'm not so innocent, I can't recognise a boy dog – had a ruffle of white hair down the front of his chest. He was positively adorable!

"We're not keeping it!"

"But—"

"_NO!"_

The next morning . . . started with Wufei screaming.

Not a manful yell of surprise, or one of his patented roars of fury . . . an actual scream. Ok, maybe that's an exaggeration, Wufei would never scream. But he got damn close to it. Naturally, it being six AM, we – as in the other pilots – all slammed out of our rooms, guns raised. We stalked down the corridor silently, dressed in our pyjamas or boxers in the case of Duo. Finally we reached Wufei's room, and Heero motioned us all to be quiet. The door was open a crack, and we could hear Wufei's hard breathing from inside.

"Wufei . . .?"

Heero called out cautiously, his safety clicking off on his gun.

"Get. In. Here. _NOW_!" Wufei barked back at us. We lowered out guns, realising that the situation didn't sound so absolutely terrible and filed in quietly. Wufei was stood at the foot of his bed, his arms folded and his teeth grinding. He was mad. Really, really, really mad.

"Heero." He growled, "tell Relena to get here now so I can finish your job!"

Heero blinked and stowed his gun into the back of his pants, "Why?"

Wufei's jaw worked and his eye ticked.

Then he turned around to reveal the puppy dangling from his ponytail.

"Awwww!" I cooed while Trowa went over to carefully pull the puppy away from Wufei's hair before someone – most likely Relena – died. Trowa cradled the puppy that yawned and stared up with his big blue and green eyes. Duo sighed and pulled at the dog's collar. "Why on earth has Relena got Heero a puppy?" He asked no one in particular as he squinted to read the dog tags. "Dearest Heero . . ." he began, "Even when we are far away, with this sweet companion, may it always remind you that I'm by your side . . . Relena." He blew up his cheeks as if he was going to be ill, then turned the tag over. "Aww . . . she named it after herself . . ."

"Really?" I asked, stepping closer to see the tag.

"Yeah!" Duo grinned at me, "The dog's name is Bitch!"

Heero hid a smirk as Trowa dumped the puppy in his arms, "Seriously?" He reached over and glanced at the tag, "Queen Relena! She called it Queen Relena!"

"The bitch must be put down," Duo announced solemnly then winked at me as I started to protest, "And then we can name the dog something prettier!"

"Duo!" I rolled my eyes as Wufei started to push Heero out of the room.

"Well, enjoy your gift from the stupid girl, Yuy. I'm going back to bed, keep it away from me, I hate dogs!" He spun and started hustling the rest of us out, not even listening to our protests as he slammed the door in our faces. Glancing around, we questioned each other silently before Duo suddenly turned to Heero and kissed his lightly on the cheek, "G'nite Heero! Goodnight bitch!" And with a flick of his braid he'd quickly ducked into his room, slamming the door quickly. Next thing I knew Trowa picked me up and was sprinting to our shared room, I stared at Heero apologetically and managed to call out, "Trowa's really more of a lion person, sorry!"

Finally.

A decent hour.

Twelve, Noon, was striking the large grandfather clock, and I padded into the kitchen again, wearing still Trowa's oversized bathrobe. What can I say? I love the man, I love his clothes and keeping his scent around me keeps me with a nice buzzy horny feeling all day long.

I was just daydreaming about breakfast in bed with Trowa when Wufei suddenly grabbed my arm and dragged me around the table. His look of frustration silencing any and all happy fuzzy feelings I had floating around.

Queen Relena was curled up in the washing basket.

"Awww—"

Wufei clapped a hand over my mouth, cutting off the automatic cute response. "It is not sweet. It is not adorable. It is, quite frankly, a menace."

"Oh Wufei, come on!" I replied, "Seriously, what is a cute little thing like that going to do to you?"

"Dogs are smelly. They poo everywhere. They chew everything up." He flipped his fingers out as he talked, "and most importantly they bite. I hate dogs."

"Wufei, stop being so … _mean_!" I pointed at the cute little bundle of joy in our laundry basket, "Look at him. That puppy wouldn't do anything like that to you!"

"It will, mark my words, Winner. If we don't find a use for it…" His dark eyes took on a decidedly calculating glint.

"Chang Wufei. I know you have a pet hate, we all have our little pet hates…" I folded my arms, "You just need to learn how to live with them."

He wasn't listening to me. Wufei paused, staring off into the middle distance. His dark eyes widened and this strangely joyful smile passed over his lips as he grabbed my arm.

"… We should strap it to a bomb and send it back to Relena."

I didn't need my Space Heart to tell me he was actually seriously considering it. I pulled my arm away from Wufei and ran toward the adorable puppy. "Wufei!" I cried, spreading my arms in front of the slumbering little fluff ball. "I know what you are thinking and you better stop thinking it. RIGHT. NOW." Levelling my best ZERO look at him, I growled as effectively as I could. "Wufei. I want you to put all thoughts of blowing Vice Minister Relena up using a Bomb-packed Queen Relena. It's too cruel to the puppy."

The calculating look didn't quite leave Wufei's dark eyes as he nodded and turned to leave.

I made a mental note. Then scribbled it on the white board in my light blue marker for the other Gundams to read:-

_Everyone;_

_DO NOT allow Wufei anywhere near Queen Relena. He plans to wrap the puppy with explosives and return it to Relena._

And after checking the fridge, added:

_Someone needs to buy more milk. _

_Remember: Wufei + Queen Relena + Explosives BAD WUFEI. VERY EVIL WUFEI._

_Q._

Naturally, when I returned later that day the message had been altered.

**_Everyone_ **

(scribbled out in purple, replaced with 'Heeeeeeeeeeero-chan!' and hearts, added in dark blue, 'Stop calling me that. I will kill you. – 01', added in green: 'looks better than 000000000-11111-chan', added in orange: 'Are you warning me to act against myself? That doesn't make any sense.')

**_DO NOT_ **

(scribbled out in orange, replaced with 'Make sure to')

**_allow Wufei near Queen Relena_ **

(scribbled out in perfect straight dark blue lines, replaced with 'I will kill her. - 01', added in purple: 'you mean relena the bitch, not the puppy rite?', added in dark blue: 'I do mean Relena, Trowa remember Wufei's the one you want. – 01', added in orange: 'wuss.').

**_He plans_ **

(scribbled out in orange, replaced with 'WILL!', added in green: 'WON'T!')

**_to wrap the puppy_ **

(scribbled out in orange, replaced with 'and stuff it, both ends'. That is scribbled out with green, replaced with 'Do it and I'll stuff you, you evil bastard'. Purple arrows point to this, reading 'oooooh, sounds kinky, tro!'. Randomly, also scribbled near this in dark blue: 'I will kill you all. – 01'. Scribbled next to this in green, 'Promises, promises + Shut up duo.')

**_with explosives_ **

(scribbled out in purple, replaced with 'wit Luv!', added in dark blue: 'I know where you can get plenty of C4 – 01', added in orange: 'Thanks. Need TNT too. Don't want to take any chances.', added in green: 'Don't EVEN think about, you bastards.')

_**and return it to Relena.**_

(added in blue: 'I will kill her. –01', added in purple: 'not if i gett there 1st!', added in orange, 'I think you'll find I (underlined three times with a star above)will be the one doing the killing. With the best weapon since the ZERO system, Puppy bombs', added in green: 'Not with the puppy, you evil bastard. Use a gun.'

_**Someone needs to buy more milk.**_

(added in purple: 'not full skimmed this time heero that stuff's like water', added in dark blue: 'full cream's too fatty. Get semi-skimmed instead. – 01', added in purple: 'Meeee!', added in dark blue: 'Yes. You. I got it last time. – 01', added in purple, 'anal-retentive goit!', added in orange: 'And toilet paper! Maxwell, stop TP-ing my Gundam.' Added in green: 'And coke-a-cola, real not pepsi. LEAVE THE PUPPY ALONE WUFEI. YOU EVIL BASTARD.', added in orange: 'Come on, Barton, you want the bitch dead too.' Added in dark blue, 'CHERRY BAKEWELLS. Whoever MAXWELL is eating my cherry bakewells MAXWELL better replace them MAXWELL or I will kill you MAXWELL.' Added in purple, big arrow pointing back to 'anal-retentive goit!', added in orange: 'not if I send my fleet of puppy-bombs first.', added in green, underlined twice: YOU ARE AN EVIL BASTARD WUFEI. NEXT TIME I SEE YOU I'M GOING TO KICK YOU IN THE NUTS.')

_**Remember: Wufei + Queen Relena + Explosives BAD WUFEI. VERY EVIL WUFEI. **_

(added in purple: 'heero + relena sittin' in a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G.', added in dark blue: '02 + 01's Gundam. Let's see who'd win that fight. – 01 p.s I will kill you.', added in orange: 'You make it sound like blowing up Relena is a bad thing. I think I speak for everyone when I say, the bitch has to die. I'm doing everyone a favour. The puppy will love it. I'll give it a bone or something.', added in green: 'The puppy is NOT a weapon of war, Chang. There is NO HONOUR in sending a PUPPY as a bomb. YOU EVIL BASTARD.', added in orange: 'There's plenty of honour in dying for a cause. The ends justify the means. The needs of me out weigh the needs of the puppy. I get rid of Relena AND the damned dog.')

_**Q.**_

(scribbled out in purple, replaced with: 'D.I.S.C.Q.', added in orange: 'VIVA LA PUPPY BOMB! TODAY THE PUPPY. TOMORROW THE LIONS.' Added in blue: 'Mission accepted. – 01. p.s. CHERRY BAKEWELLS!', added in green: 'Wufei. There are no words to describe what I am going to do to you if you even breathe in the direction of my lions. Your life wouldn't be worth living. You will DIE A VERY LONG AND PAINFUL DEATH.', added in orange with a crude doodle of Wufei yelling: 'Bring it on, Barton!')

… I had to smile really. Even though we were battle hardened Gundam pilots, we were still boys. Dangerous terrorists but we were still so very young. I checked the fridge again, and found nobody had bought any milk. Sighing, I picked up my keys and turned to go out. On impulse I picked up Queen Relena on my way out, passing Wufei on the way out. The Chinese pilot was walking with a limp. Obviously Trowa had made good on his threat. He nodded to me tightly.

"Are you all right?" I asked, careful to keep the puppy out of his range. "Trowa gets awfully protective about his lions."

"Don't worry." Wufei answered, perhaps a little higher than his normal pitch, "I gave as good as I got." He looked down at Queen Relena and grinned evilly, "How's my little puppybomb? How are you? Are you ready to blow Relena up?"

The puppy yapped happily and struggled to get out of my arms. I glared at Wufei as I quickly got away from him, "Wufei, I hope Trowa got you hard in the nuts."

Looking back, I should have realised that the puppy had latched on to Wufei in more ways than one. Within five minutes of leaving, I had turned my car around and returned. The little fuzzy demon had peed all over my car, and then it started to chew the upholstery. And then the little demon dog BIT me. Me! The one that was protecting it from Wufei's plans of turning it into a puppy-bomb.

Gagging on the rancid smell of wet puppy pee, I stumbled out of my car and quickly let the dog out. Trowa was in the garage nursing his motorbike and a black eye. He was shocked as I dumped the little fuzz demon in his arms and ran upstairs to shower.

Little did I know what evil I had unleashed on my unsuspecting lover. Queen Relena had taken a somewhat violent dislike to Trowa, and when I returned I was surprised to find Trowa curled gracefully on the top shelf, next to the paint pots. His jumper was ripped and the demon puppy was mauling a good portion of it.

He refused to come down until I'd chased the puppy away.

Never before in my life have I seen Trowa act like such a wuss.

The next thing I heard was Duo howling in pain.

And then Wufei's cackle.

I didn't know Wufei could cackle.

Trowa and I ran though to the living room where we found Wufei nearly killing himself with laughter. Queen Relena had chomped onto Duo's braid and now the poor boy was running about trying to get the dog off him. Wufei! I yelled as Trowa moved to stop Duo. He seemed a little hesitant to actually touch the puppy, and I didn't blame him. Queen Relena was growling and frothing at the mouth, determined to yank of Duo's braid or die trying. Duo was running around madly, yelling, "GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF ME!"

Finally, Heero arrived to find out what was going on and that's when the real trouble started.

Queen Relena took one look at Heero and froze.

Then did something I thought only another Gundam Pilot would be crazy enough to do.

He dropped, landed on his feet, rolled, barrelled toward Heero, jumped … and bit him in the groin. I'm not talking about a playful nip. I'm talking about a full on, blood sucking, bone crunching, make-other-men-wince-and-automatically-reach-for-their-own-in-sympathy, nut-cracking snap.

For a long moment, there was nothing. Silence.

I know my eyes were watering.

Duo uttered a quiet, "Damn."

Trowa drew a quick breath.

Heero's were twitching a bit and then he just kind of flopped onto his back and passed out.

Wufei dropped to his knees and held his arms out. He drew a deep breath and screwed his face up.

"GOOD PUPPY! LOOK AT YOU AND ALL THE WANTON DESTRUCTION YOU WREAK!"

When Heero left the hospital, he brought industrial strength duct tape.

When Duo found out that Heero wouldn't be able to perform in bed for three months, he brought detonators.

When Trowa noticed (after he'd put them on) that the puppy had poo-ed in his favourite shoes, he brought 15kg of explosives.

When I discovered that the puppy had eaten my favourite sheet music, I recanted my love for puppies and brought the giftbox and wrote the tag.

_To Relena, with love. H.D.T.Q._

When Wufei realised we were actually going to go through with it, he grabbed Queen Relena and ran out the door.

The next thing we knew, he'd flown away with the damned fuzzy demon. He didn't return for another three months, obviously waiting until we all calmed down before tentatively sneaking back. It was three in the morning when I heard a noise in the kitchen. Tying Trowa's robe around me tighter, I poked my head into the kitchen to find Wufei leaning over into the fridge, muttering to the dog that was happily lying on his shoulder.

The puppy demon spotted me and looked ready to spring from Wufei's shoulder when he uttered a sharp command in Chinese. Wufei nodded to me and raised a hand to feed the little demon some ham.

"I thought you didn't like dogs, Wufei."

"I don't." I raised an eyebrow at this and glared at him. The Chinese pilot chuckled as the puppy licked his ear, "But then, we all have our own pet hates… we just need to learn to exploit them."

end.


End file.
